


Midnight Clandestine Stories

by whitesheets



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, Female-Centric, Femslash, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:05:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3813319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitesheets/pseuds/whitesheets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after Andy leaves <i>Runway</i>, she receives a text message.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta-ed, do please excuse any mistakes. I hope you'll enjoy!

Chugging down her sixth cup of coffee for the day, Andy’s fingers flew across the keyboard, churning out words at breakneck speed.

Three hundred and fifty words.

She only had three hundred and fifty words to go, before she could finally take off for her two-day weekend, a normal occurrence to most people in the world, a rarity for one Andy Sachs. She couldn’t believe her editor had allowed her to have two days off straight on the schedule but she wasn’t about to question it.

“Your laptop didn’t do a damn thing to you, Sachs!” Flynn called from across the desk, biting a giant chunk out of his sloppy sandwich.

“Shut it. I’m going to make the most of my  _two_ days and I’ve got a friend coming over from Boston,” Andy said, without looking up from the screen. One-eighty words down. 4:30PM. She could be out and on the way home by five.

“Oohh,  _friend_ ,” Flynn said, like the child that he was.

“Someone special?” her editor asked, walking into the room.

Andy rolled her eyes. “Yes, Pete. Someone  _very_ special.”

Paragraphs materialised faster than Andy would have expected, and she rushed the last few sentences before spending about ten minutes tightening up and smoothing out the flow of the piece. Quickly sending the document over to her editor, she scrunched up some rough paper she had been using to map up her story and aimed it at the wastepaper basket.

“Five bucks you miss!”

Andy smirked as the ball of paper flew right into its target. Her ex-boss would have been proud – though to be fair, a paper ball is nothing close to a thirty-thousand dollar fur coat.

“Should’ve kept it shut, Flynn. You may buy me lunch on Monday,” she said, slamming her laptop shut and slipping it into her messenger bag. “I’ve filed the story. If you need me to change much, just email and I’ll get on it. I’m off, guys. Have good weekend!” she called, half skipping across the floor.

“What weekend?”

“Har har, Pete. You can’t take it back!” Andy called, from the doorway.

“Kidding, Sachs. Get lost!”

“I’m going, I’m going!” Andy said, and almost ran all the way outside in her excitement.

Her phone rang just as her feet hit the sidewalk.

“I’m out! I’m not late right?” Andy said, immediately speeding up her walk.

Nate laughed.  _“No. Relax. I just wanted to let you know that I’m already at the apartment._ ”

“Great! Sorry I couldn’t meet you at the airport. I’m on the way home.”

_“Nah, that’s fine. I’m going to get started on dinner. Lily is already on her way over and Doug’s leaving work soon.”_

Andy smiled. “Ooh, food. I can’t wait.”

_“At the sad state of your groceries, trust me when I say I know. I’ll see you in a bit?”_

“Yup. And Nate?” she paused on the sidewalk, looking up into the warming sky. Ah, and of course. She had inadvertently stopped in front of her old workplace. Just the sort of thing which happened to Andy Sachs on a daily basis, the world conspiring to remind her of what she had left behind.

_“Yeah?”_

“I’m really happy. I mean, about getting everyone together. It’ll be good to see everyone again,” Andy said, unable to keep her eyes from watering up just a little. She had really missed them, and losing her closest friends for those brief few months had hurt.

_“I’m glad, Andy. It’s good to be back in New York.”_

“Right. I’ll see you soon, Nate.”

_“You too.”_

With a content sigh, she slipped the phone into her pocket and glanced across the road, scanning the crowd – out of curiosity, she told herself. A tall blonde – obviously too fashionable to be working anywhere else but  _Runway_ , not to mention the very real fear in her face – dashed across the streets. The latest Emily? Or was it the latest  _Andrea_ now? Now,  _that_  would be … very cool. The chances of that happening, however, was zilch.

Amused by her own thoughts, Andy continued walking with an extra spring in her step. It was going to be a great Friday night indeed.

-

In between the sinful lamb stew and the most calorie-laden mac and cheese bake ever, Andy heard her phone beep tellingly, and had to force herself to ignore it. Pete wasn’t heartless, and she was sure that whatever it was he needed, she could probably get it done before the night ended anyway. Progress, she thought. She was definitely not the same girl as she had been last year, permanently tethered to her phone and falling all over herself to meet the insane demands of a well-dressed slave-driver  –

Who had just texted her.

Uh.

Feeling her pulse speed up, Andy took another glance at the preview window on the screen without picking it up. What the fuck?

And how the hell did she even get her number?

“Do you need to get that?” Lily asked, and Andy’s head snapped right up to see three sets of eyes looking right at her.

“Huh?”

“You keep looking at the phone, you dork. You haven’t started smoking up, have you?”

So much for ignoring her phone.

Doug snorted. “Goody-two-shoes-Andy and pot? Now who’s smoking up here?”

“People change,” Lily said, in fake ominous voice.

“Calm your tits, girl.”

“Andy?” Nate asked, looking concerned. “Is it work?”

Andy felt a nervous bubble in her chest, ready at any moment to explode. Why the hell was Miranda Priestly texting Andy Sachs, her biggest disappointment, on a Friday night?

“Yeah,” she lied, to prevent further questions. “Um-“

“It’s okay, Andy. Get it if you need to,” Lily said, shovelling more macaroni onto her plate. “News is news right? The world doesn’t stop, just because three fabulous people decide to have dinner.”

The nervous bubble escaped as a pathetic half-laugh, half-sob. Why were her friends being so nice  _now_ , when she was lying and didn’t deserve it? But aside from that, why was Miranda Priestly texting her?! It irritated her that a stupid text message could mess up her insides in an instant – that  _someone_ had that sort of power over her.

“I’ll just check it. It’s probably my editor. I filed a story today,” Andy said, and grabbed her phone. “Sorry guys.”

“No worries. Just don’t disappear on us,” Nate said.

“Be right back, swear it,” Andy said, and crossed her heart, even if she somewhat resented Nate’s words.

Escaping into the relatively enclosed space of her bedroom, Andy’s fingers trembled as they hovered over the text icon. Her heart was thumping hard and fast, but not solely out of the crippling fear that held her in check during her entire tenure at  _Runway_. It was a heady combination of anticipation, utter dread and too much wine.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she let her finger make contact with the screen, counted to ten, and then opened her eyes.

She blinked.

The fuck?

_Those boots belong in The Closet._

_-M_

Her knees gave way and she sat down on the bed ungracefully.

Miranda must have seen her in front of the Elias-Clarke building today and Andy hadn’t even noticed. The bloody woman was hard to miss in a tidal-wave of New Yorkers – how the heck did Andy miss her? Christ. And of course, it had to be on  _the_ day Andy had decided to wear one of the very few things she had actually kept from  _Runway_. She had seen Miranda a total of three times outside the Elias-Clarke building since leaving, and only once had the woman actually indicated that she had seen Andy, not that she had deigned to acknowledge Andy’s awkward wave.

Perhaps Miranda had always noticed Andy on the streets, even if Andy had never seen the woman around. Which was a terrifying thought.

Because on days where she hadn’t slept for 24 hours to meet a deadline, and couldn’t be bothered to put on make-up, Miranda could have seen  _that_.

Oh God, on ill-fitting sweater days, Miranda could have pursed her lips in disgust and Andy wouldn’t have even known it. A flash of anxiety ripped through her, not unlike the kind which appeared every morning as she dressed for the editor’s barely-there nod of approval.

Should she reply? Would Miranda set the dogs on her, if she didn’t? After all, if she felt inclined, Miranda  _could_ actually make a case against her – Andy was the one who had kept something from The Closet. She hadn’t intended to, but walking away the way she had, had made it a bit trickier for her to waltz back and return the clothes she had borrowed from The Closet. She had returned most of them, all the most expensive items and all the Chanel, via Emily. It was just that these damn boots were so comfortable and beautiful shoes were seldom so.

It still didn’t explain Miranda personally texting Andy about the boots. Knowing her, she was more likely to just make Emily do it. But then, Andy realised with a sadness, that she didn’t know Miranda. Who did?

At the end, she settled on evasion.

_Should I ask how you got my number?_

_-A_

Her belly quivered slightly at her bravado. A question would throw Miranda off, she knew, and it made the adrenaline in her body surge when she hit ‘Send’. She took the time waiting for Miranda’s response to save the number into her phone even if that wasn’t exactly necessary. Andy already had Miranda’s number permanently imprinted into her brain, so much so that even if she had dementia fifty years down the road, she would probably still be able to remember it, along with how Miranda liked her coffee.

Her phone beeped and she opened the message window again.

_You are in a profession whereby being easily contactable is a necessity, are you not?_

_-M_

Well. Damn. Miranda had a point. But more importantly, she had answered Andy’s question, even if it was posed as another question. Had the sky outside fallen down? A quick glance outside the window reassured Andy that it hadn’t.

_Touché. Would you like me to return the boots?_

_-A_

Testing the waters, that was all Andy was doing. She wasn’t at all continuing a conversation with a woman who had been the cause of her anxiety attacks and insomnia for almost a whole year. The answering beep made Andy’s heart beat faster.

_Don’t be ridiculous. You have probably worn them to shreds now._

_-M_

Andy chuckled, mostly in relief and partial amusement, having read the text in Miranda’s whispery voice in her head.

_I thought they belonged in The Closet._

_-A_

She waited but a response didn’t come straightaway and a heaviness pressed against her chest. It almost felt like disappointment.

“Andy?”

Shit. How long had she been hiding away in the bedroom?

“Yeah, coming in a bit! Just finishing up an email!”

“Kay. Just checking!” Lily said, her voice already faraway.

She checked her phone again, but saw no unread texts. Oh well. It had been kind of nice, she guessed. In a strange Miranda-ish way, maybe that was the editor’s way of telling Andy that she wasn’t mad at her anymore. The revelation made Andy grin, her shoulders suddenly lightened from an unknown burden she didn’t know she carried.

She practically bounced back to the dinner table, happy to have her friends around, and the knowledge that Miranda Priestly possibly did not hate her.

The next morning, Andy woke up to the divine smell of fresh waffles and coffee, a luxury which had been deprived from her since Nate had taken his breakfast-making-skills to Boston.

She tumbled out of bed and blindly found her way to the kitchen.

“Coffee,” she croaked, blowing the bangs out of her face as she sat down.

“Well, good morning to you, Miss Cranky Pants,” Nate said, already pushing a mug towards her.

Andy ignored him and took a full gulp. “How was the couch?”

“Not bad, actually,” he said, and pushed a plate of waffles towards her. “Eat up.”

“God, I’ve missed this,” Andy said, taking a whiff of the buttery perfection.

“Yeah, me too,” Nate said, and Andy had to look up at him.

Standing there in his shorts and wrinkled shirt, curly hair a mess, Andy’s heart clenched. Not a single inch of him had changed since school. It was easy to remember all the good times they had since he looked exactly like how he had looked in all her memories of them together. Unlike everyone else, it was as if he had found his place, and stayed, content at the way he was now. Andy thought of Miranda’s iconic look for the past two decades and wondered if it was the same with the editor.

“Andy –” Nate began, but something had clattered noisily onto the floor, cutting him off.  

“What the – ah, shit, my phone!” Andy ran over and picked up the gadget, relieved when the screen lit up as she pressed the power button. “Still works!”

“How did  _that_ happen?”

“Must have left my phone too close to the edge and vibration tipped it off,” Andy said, without looking up because she was too busy staring at Miranda’s reply to her text.

_Many things are not where they belong, sometimes better so._

_-M_

Was Miranda paying her a compliment? Oh God, it was a compliment. Wasn’t it? Even if Miranda hadn’t come out and said it outright, she had implied it with her text, vague as hell it might have been. She had to be talking about the boots. Whatever. Andy was going to take it as a compliment.

“Oh. You want more syrup?”

“Yeah, sure,” Andy said, absently, rereading the brief line for the thirtieth time.

“You have work?”

“What?”

“Your phone.”

“Oh. Yeah. Well, not really. Just an update about something. It’s not really that important,” Andy said, trying not to sound guilty and willed herself to place her phone down.

“Good,” Nate said, and dug into his own stack of waffles.

It really wasn’t worth the potential tension to be honest with Nate at this point in time. They hadn’t really spoken about what the status was (officially, he was only here for the weekend to visit as a friend), and whatever that was going on with Miranda was just too strange for her brain to compute. That was enough of a reason to not be completely honest, Andy reasoned. At least, not with an ex-boyfriend who hated her ex-employer with as much if not more passion that he hated margarine.

But even as they updated each other about their individual lives, she found herself thinking of Miranda’s text and pitifully composing imaginary replies in her head. Obviously after all this while, she had never lost the compulsive need to please Miranda, and that was doubtless the saddest thing of all.

-

She finally knew exactly what her response to Miranda would be that night, sitting in a darkened room with piece of popcorn in her cleavage. If she hadn’t been in a room with a hundred other people who would not doubt give her nasty stares, she would have sent it then and there. Only the thought that Miranda would never approve of such behaviour stopped her.

“She’s such a bitch,” Lily whispered as she reached over to grab more popcorn.

“No, she isn’t!” Andy defended at once, before coming to an embarrassing realisation that Lily couldn’t be talking about Miranda. Unless Lily could read minds, and that sort of superpower only belonged to one person Andy knew. “She was a silly child,” she quickly amended, face burning in the darkness.

“There’s going to be a tragic ending,” Doug whispered.

“Shut up,” Nate whispered, and everyone did.

Doug’s prediction turned out to be right at the very end, and Andy had no idea how he had seen it coming right up till there. Unless –

“You read the book!” Lily accused, as they filed out of the theatre with the rest of the crowd.

“I didn’t! I just knew it. I mean, it’s so Somerset Maugham. You could practically see it in the opening credits.”

“I was really hoping they could end up happy together,” Andy said, desolate.

Nate put a hand on her shoulder. “At least they sorta did. Fictionally.”

It didn’t count, Andy thought, vehemently. “I’m still depressed,” she said.

“We know,” Doug said, and put his hand on her other shoulder. “At least the whole thing was fictional. I hope.”

“Yeah. I guess,” Andy said, and then thought about Miranda, whom she still had to respond to, and looking forward to it made her feel slightly better.

They had supper before calling it a night, and by the time Andy crawled into bed after a five minute shower, it was a little past 1AM. She replied to a few emails in bed, before finally turning off the lights and picking her phone up from the nightstand. Her stomach thrummed pleasantly as she composed her message.

_Most are happiest where they belong._

_-A_

Contented, Andy sent the message, set her phone aside and pulled her sheets up. Just right before she fell asleep though, her phone vibrated and jolted her eyes wide open. She squinted from the bright light of the screen, before her eyes finally adjusted and she saw Miranda’s name on the preview. She tapped on her screen and the message window expanded.

_Perhaps._

_-M_

Just that? After the entire day Andy had taken to compose her reply? The tinge of disappointment reappeared, and she felt like an idiot for feeling it. What had she expected Miranda to reply with anyway?  _Come back?_ Shit. The stupid fancy movie had made her feel all sorts of stupid feelings and Miranda Priestly wasn’t fucking Keira Knightley. This was all Lily’s fault.

_I hope you had a good day Miranda. Don’t stay up too late._

_-A_

The reply was almost instantaneous.

_I did. And look who’s talking._

_-M_

Andy couldn’t stop grinning at her phone, disappointment evaporating in an instant. Miranda Priestly was having a conversation with her. Miranda Priestly was  _sustaining_ a conversation with Andrea Sachs on her own accord even if her responses were short and sometimes abrupt. God, Emily would shit her pants if she ever found out. Andy seized the chance and immediately typed a response. Fuck sleeping. It was her two-day weekend and she could sleep in tomorrow if she wanted. Figuring that she didn’t need the silent mode if she wasn’t going to sleep, she switched it back to the normal one.

_I was out. Just got home not too long ago._

_-A_

_Is your editor assigning you midnight clandestine stories now?_

_-M_

If only. One day, when she made senior, she hoped he would. One day, maybe Miranda would even think of her as her greatest pride. Well, probably fourth greatest pride, after her children and  _Runway_. You sort of had to have a lot of expectations for someone for them to wind up as your greatest disappointment.

_I wish. Saw a movie. It was tragic. Keira Knightley and James McAvoy died._

_-A_

_I certainly hope not. Keira Knightley is my cover girl for next month’s issue._

_-M_

Andy chuckled. Who would have thought Miranda had a sense of humour and such a delightful one at that? Or Miranda could have just returned from a gala, drunk on champagne. Andy might have fallen down the rabbit hole but the Red Queen was turning out to be great company, drunk or not.

_What about James McAvoy? He is beautiful._

_-A_

_My. Is your date aware that he has competition?_

_-M_

Oh, Nate didn’t stand a chance against McAvoy, as far as Andy was concerned. Neither did Doug. Or Lily. She snorted but decided to go along with the playful banter.

_Said date is aware that they fall short._

_-A_

_And they are not worried about Mr. McAvoy?_

_-M_

_Hey, I can be trusted!_

_-A_

_Can you?_

_-M_

Miranda’s comment sent a sharp throb straight through Andy’s chest. Andy had been nothing but loyal to Miranda until the end, until she saw how Nigel’s loyalty had been trampled on by the very woman who had commanded it.

_Yes._

_-A_

Miranda didn’t respond immediately, and Andy closed her eyes, dry from staring at the light emitting from the screen of her phone.

The next thing she knew, her phone was ringing, someone was moving around in her kitchen, and the place smelt like heaven had melted on a frying pan.

Andy reached out blindly and grabbed onto the offending object, overcoming the urge to throw it across the room.

“Sachs,” she tried not to croak, rolling onto her back. It better not be Flynn pulling a stunt. She was not in the mood to cover for anyone today. It was her weekend off, dammit.

_“Aren’t you supposed to be chasing after some crooked politician or exposing the plight of sweatshop workers?”_

A soft feminine voice caressed her ear and Andy shot straight up in shock.

“M-Miranda?”

“ _No, it’s your wake-up call service.”_

“Um.”

Miranda sighed melodramatically and Andy mentally pictured her rolling her eyes.

 _“It is ten o’clock in the morning, Andrea,”_ Miranda said, sounding scandalised. Andy shivered at the familiarity of the way Miranda said her name. It had been months since she last heard it. “ _Do all journalists have the luxury of sleeping in? I thought the news stops for no one.”_

“I have the day off.” Andy felt the need to clarify, recovering slightly from her earlier shock.

_“So do I, but I’m not lolling around in bed, am I?”_

“I guess not,” Andy said, at a loss for words. Why was she calling on a Sunday morning? It wasn’t as if there was anything Andy could do for –  _damn._  “Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you last night.”

_“No matter. I am glad to know that you haven’t died.”_

Wait. Andy pulled her phone away from her ear. The woman hadn't replied to Andy's last message. She couldn't have known that Andy had fallen asleep on her. What was she calling about then? Oh God. Could this be a social call? Andy twisted her brain, trying to decipher if this was Miranda’s way of saying: “Hello, how are you?”

“It’s good to hear from you too, Miranda,” Andy said, trying to sound confident. She could play confident texting Miranda Priestly, but real talking took a lot more effort.

 _“Small talk? Honestly, Andrea,”_  the other woman said, in a way that sounded as if Andy was slow at catching up with the plot, whatever it might be.

Andy almost laughed out loud. Some things would never change.

“It’s not small talk if I am genuinely interested.”

_“Are you now?”_

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t,” Andy countered, growing bolder by the moment. In spite of everything,  _Miranda_ had been the one to call her.

_“If you must know, I am well.”_

“All is good at work?”

There was a brief pause, and then a soft sigh.  _“I’m afraid that –”_

The door opened and Nate appeared carrying a wooden tray. “Blueberry pancakes for your majesty, by your personal chef for this weekend.”

_“Don’t let me keep you, Andrea.”_

Shit.

“No, no, sorry, Mir – uh, sorry. Hold on.”

She covered the mouthpiece as Nate held up both hands at the full force of Andy’s glare.

“I’m going, I’m going. Don’t kill yourself working. It’s our last day together!” he said, before pulling the bedroom door shut.

“Hello, Miranda? Hello?” Andy pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at the screen. Miranda had hung up on her. “Shit!”

Miranda being funny. Being charming. Texting each other. Humouring Andy’s stupid questions. All of it was most definitely not a figment of Andy’s imagination or a result of Miranda being in an inebriated state. That phone call had all but reiterated its reality and obliterating what doubt Andy had from before.

The Miranda Priestly Andy knew would  _never_ text any of her ex-employees in her personal capacity. Not out of the blue, about their boots. Or about James McAvoy and their movie dates.

She certainly never made social calls to them either.

And Andy had told Miranda Priestly to “hold on” – a woman who was most certainly  _never_ put on hold, even by people more important than Andy could ever hope to be.

She didn’t dare call back, but opted to send a text message instead. It had been Miranda’s choice that Friday evening, after all.

_I’m sorry._

_-A_

For the interruption of the call. For Paris. For everything.

Miranda didn't reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The film Andy references is Atonement (2007).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta-ed, so kindly forgive any errors. This part is rather long, but please enjoy!

Two weeks later, Andy had fully convinced herself that the strange communication Miranda had struck up with her was nothing but one of the editor’s indecipherable actions that she had long stopped attempting to understand. Who knew what went on in Miranda’s head? Not Andy. She knew Miranda’s habits and preferences from keen observations, but she had never been able to figure out the motivations behind sudden spurs of unpredictability. Was it for the sake of keeping her employees guessing?

But Andy wasn’t an employee anymore.

She shouldn’t matter to Miranda.

Andy sighed. She would break her brain attempting to figure it out, and still never would. It was an idiotic thing to attempt and she shouldn’t waste her non-existent time trying to. She had moved on, hadn’t she? Her life was going well now. She was seeing Doug and Lily at least twice a week, and was back to being friendly with Nate. Miranda Priestly shouldn’t have any power to make Andy feel less than awesome.

She told herself that her latest custom of slowing down her stride in front of the Elias-Clarke building every day, on the way home, was out of curiosity and kindly concern. But even if Andy saw the town-car, she never saw Miranda. It was as if Miranda had known that Andy was around, and refused to show herself.

Today, she saw Roy step out, waiting beside the car for his employer but the tell-tale glimpse of white was nowhere in sight. That Roy had stepped out only meant that Emily, or Emily No. 2, had already sent the customary warning that the editor was on her way. It was a bit surprising, considering the fact that Mondays were the longest days and Miranda (and as a result, everyone else) often worked later than this.

Would she appear today?

Feeling her heart flutter, Andy stopped walking and stepped behind the throng of people walking past. She leaned back against a wall, out of Roy’s direct vision, and waited.

It only took two minutes for Miranda to appear, purposefully striding towards the waiting car, wind tousling her perfect hair. She looked irritated – nothing unusual – and was barking orders into her phone, but God, Andy almost swayed at how good the woman looked.

Roy opened the door and Miranda slipped in smoothly, disappearing from sight as quickly as she had appeared. Five seconds in and Andy was already feeling something akin to withdrawal – the very same feeling she had carried with her for the first few weeks after discarding her phone into the Fontaines de la Concorde.

At least she now knew that Miranda was fine, and wilfully ignoring Andy’s text on purpose.

Roy settled into the driver’s seat, and she took it as a sign to go. With a heaviness in her heart, Andy was about to leave her unplanned vigil when her phone trilled. She supposed work was better than sitting around with nothing to do and thinking about people she had no business thinking about anyway.

“Sachs.”

_“Must you constantly announce yourself? I happen to know who exactly I am calling.”_

Her jaw dropped.

Pushing her way to the front of the sidewalk so she had a direct view of the idling town-car across the road, she squinted.

 _“Close your mouth. It is an unbecoming look,”_  Miranda said, which no doubt meant that she was watching Andy.

“Sorry,” Andy mumbled. Miranda was right there, less than fifty feet away. Her heart pounded. She glanced down at her lace-up shoes, and started wishing that she’d put on the boots instead.

_“Stalking doesn’t suit you, Andrea.”_

“I wasn’t stalking,” Andy said, defensively at Miranda’s presumption. Even if it was mostly true. “I was on the way home.”

_“If you would like to speak to me, it would be wise for you to start moving your feet.”_

“Um, okay.” The light turned green, as if it answered to Miranda’s wishes, and Andy followed the rest of the crowd across the road. Roy was already holding the passenger door open when she approached, and she swallowed hard before taking the plunge into the familiar smell of expensive leather and Miranda’s unique scent. After eight long months, a surge of emotions Andy couldn’t identify flooded through her being, making her fingers and toes tingle traitorously.

“Hi?” she said, like an idiot, when Roy shut the door firmly behind her.

Miranda was watching her curiously, legs crossed primly to show off a toned calf. She looked exactly like how Andy had left her, with the exception of the wind-tousled hair. “You were standing there for a remarkably long time to be on the way home,” she said.

Andy flushed.

“I  _was_ on the way home but I saw Roy and I knew you’d be – anyway, you didn’t reply to my text. Why didn’t you reply to my text?” It came out more vehemently than she had expected it to, and it surprised her. Vaguely, Andy felt the car start moving, but couldn’t bring herself to care.

Miranda’s eyes widened, before a blank expression of disinterest slammed right down over it. But it had been there. Wow. Andy had the capability to catch Miranda off-guard. It was an empowering realisation.

“You were occupied.” In Miranda’s world, it was the most natural thing in the world to ignore an apology because a phone-call was interrupted.

“I wasn’t. Nate just brought me breakfast and he didn’t know I was on the phone.”

Miranda exhaled sharply. “Please bore someone else –”

Was she being serious?

“No,  _you_ texted  _me,_ Miranda.  _You_ called  _me_. And then you hung up on me for something that wasn’t even my fault. But I apologised. If you wanted me to bore someone else with the details, you wouldn’t have asked me to come here,” Andy said, pointing at the phone in Miranda’s lap. She didn’t know where her backbone had sprouted from, but this lack of petrifying fear was refreshing.

“Fine,” Miranda said, looking not at all fine about anything.

Andy ignored it.

“As I was saying, he brought me breakfast and didn’t know I was on the phone. Nate was freeloading off me for the weekend, so he made breakfast every day,” Andy said, carefully neutral. She wasn’t even sure why she was volunteering the information, but somehow, it felt important that she did. Miranda still looked disinterested, but at least the clear displeasure had somewhat abated. "I made him leave the room but you’d already hung up by then.”

“Nobody said you couldn’t call back,” Miranda intoned.

She had expected Andy to call back?

Miracle of miracles.

“I know, but I was afraid you were angry,” Andy soothed. “And you didn’t reply to my message, so I was pretty sure you were mad at me.”

A little pink appeared on Miranda’s cheeks and she pursed her lips. “I wasn’t sure what you were apologising for,” the other woman said, dubiously.

“Everything. I mean, for the interruption. For what I did in Paris. But mostly for being a disappointment to you,” Andy said, smiling tremulously.

“You are not,” Miranda said, simply.

Double-wow.

“You told Pete I was,” Andy said, unable to keep from grinning at Miranda’s unexpected response. “Your biggest one, in fact.”

“It wouldn’t have done to allow Emily any ideas,” Miranda said, seriously.

Andy laughed, and Miranda’s eyes sparkled, the earlier tension dissipating.

God. She looked so beautiful, Andy’s heart clenched.

“So… I guess, I’m pretty special, huh?” Andy said, glowing like a light-bulb.

Miranda narrowed her eyes. “I’ll admit, you  _are_ the oddball. I never would have pegged you for a stalker,” she said, with considerable relish.

“I told you I was on the way home!”

“There is a shorter way to get from your little rag to your apartment. Ten minutes shorter, if I may add.” Miranda tilted her head. “And yet, you seem to prefer the way that takes you right past  _Runway_  every single day.”

“How do you know where I live?”

The editor sighed and pinned Andy with a look. “Your address is on your file.”

“Oh, right.” Then, she blinked. “How’d you know I take this way every day?”

Miranda cleared her throat quietly, cheeks pinker than Andy had ever remembered.

“You are hard to miss,” Miranda sniffed, and looked out the window. She had made it sound as if the sight of Andy alone was a great offence to her sensibilities (so typical) but it didn’t do a single thing to dim Andy’s mood. Miranda noticed Andy. Miranda wanted Andy to  _call_.

“Where are we going?” Andy asked, suddenly very aware of the moving traffic outside the window as well.

“You were very insistent that you were on the way home, were you not? Roy will drop you home,” Miranda said.

“Oh, no, that would be too much trouble. I can take the train. Just drop me off at the nearest subway,” Andy said, suddenly embarrassed that Miranda would know exactly where she lived – and how it would compare to her fancy townhouse.

Miranda frowned at her. “Don’t be silly, Andrea.”

“But – ”

“Roy will drop you off,” Miranda insisted.

“Okay. Uh, thank you,” Andy said, and settled back into the comfortable seat. Making it big did pay off well. She wondered if Miranda had ever taken the subway in her entire life. She wondered if Miranda had been  _Miranda Priestly_ her entire life. Had she always looked so good?

“What?”

Miranda’s sharp voice sliced through the haze of her thoughts and Andy blinked, to realise the other woman was staring right back at her.

“Sorry,” Andy said, flushing.

“Well?”

“It’s just – it’s really good to see you. You look good, Miranda,” Andy said, sincerely. It was only after she had said it that she realised she had been aching for the avenue to say such a thing to Miranda for the longest time.

Miranda hummed, icy eyes caressing Andy’s face in an unabashed once over. Was she assessing Andy’s make-up? Shit, she’d skipped the mascara and eyeliner today. But the editor nodded once, ignorant to Andy’s inner turmoil.

“And I am pleased to see that you have not forgotten your lessons from  _Runway_.”

Andy grinned.

“Even the shoes?”

Miranda dropped her eyes to Andy’s feet before travelling upwards, from exposed ankles all the way up to Andy’s face. Andy felt hot and cold all at once. Holy, Jesus, fuck.

“You could have done worse,” she sniffed.

Andy had never appreciated a Miranda-style compliment more than she did now.

Making a quick meal out of leftover vegetables from a salad, and egg noodles she had lying around in her kitchen that night, Andy ate dinner accompanied by work. She had texted a simple ‘ _Thank you’_ to Miranda earlier that evening, to convey her gratitude for the lift home (and for a great many things Andy couldn’t explain) but it was only after she had settled into bed near midnight that Miranda responded.

_You should consider moving to a new neighbourhood._

_-M_

Andy snorted. Though, Miranda hadn’t said a single thing about it when they pulled up in front of Andy’s apartment. She had waited six hours before making a comment – a noteworthy show of restraint.

_I plan to when my lease is up. Long day?_

_-A_

_When is it not?_

_-M_

She snuggled under her sheets, wrapping her legs around a large pillow. It seemed that Miranda preferred to text late at night. Did she do it from bed too? After tucking in her children and finishing with The Book? Andy craved to be in a position to ask all these questions but didn’t want to risk ruining – well, she didn’t know exactly what she would be ruining, but the sentiment still stood. Work should be a safe topic. Miranda had been on the verge of telling her something work-related before Nate had interrupted her.

_Is everything right with work?_

_-A_

_You’ve been there. There’s always something undoubtedly wrong._

_-M_

_I meant with Irv._

_-A_

Andy had contemplated using “Mr. Ravitz” instead, but decided that he didn’t deserve that sort of respect, not after what he had attempted to pull.

_Nothing I am unable to deal with. I appreciate the concern._

_-M_

Miranda “appreciated” Andy’s concern. Boy, they sure had come a long way from the “That’s all” days. Come to think of it, Andy hadn’t heard a single “That’s all” from Miranda in a very long time. Had she graduated from minion to acquaintance now? She typed her next response giddily.

_No problem. It’s what friends do, right?_

_-A_

Her belly did a somersault when her phone vibrated with an incoming message.

_Yes, I suppose. Goodnight, Andrea._

_-M_

Andy grinned hard, brushing a thumb across Miranda’s words. It was a tacit acknowledgement. Miranda considered her a friend.

_Sleep well, Miranda. Goodnight._

_-A_

She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

-

As it turned out, Miranda was extraordinarily skilled at being funny and charming in 140 characters – brevity and wit and all that. It was amazing how many things Miranda noticed on a daily basis and never remarked upon, and they weren’t even  _Runway_ -specific. In fact, Andy’s favourites ranged from the twins hiding a kitten in their bedroom (they still believed Miranda did not know) and an off-hand comment about condoms in an overly enthusiastic date’s wallet when he produced his credit card. Andy had taken Miranda commenting on it to mean that she  _wasn’t_ interested in said date, at least not enough to go to bed with him.

It was weird, imagining Miranda dating – it was like setting up a dragon with a defenceless soul, it just wasn’t going to end well – and Andy suspected that the sole reason for the editor partaking in such activities was a well-honed taste for schadenfreude.

Andy shuddered.

She mentally referred to the string of men Miranda left in her wake as the “fallen heroes” – “fallen” was self-explanatory and “heroes”, because they had unknowingly sacrificed themselves to Miranda’s – and by extension, Andy’s – amusement.

The sheer delight she took in updating Andy about their attempts to woo her should be all kinds of terrifying.

But it really wasn’t.

Especially, not when Andy was on the receiving end of Miranda’s charm and good graces – a side the general population never got to witness. It boggled her mind, why Miranda would seek out Andy’s company of all people, and each time Miranda texted, Andy felt a little dizzy with pleasure.

No doubt, the editor was lacking on the courteous front, often not replying to texts for days, without actually letting Andy know that she would be busy. In terms of phone calls, a rare event for the most part, Miranda never bothered with “Hellos” or “Goodbyes”. That said, her opening lines were brilliant and Andy came to anticipate them each time she saw Miranda’s name on the caller ID, even more so than she anticipated the one-line texts the older woman was fond of sending just right before Andy went to bed.

Just like this one.

_They named it after me._

_-M_

Andy laughed out loud, and then snickered all the way through her response. She’d been working late in bed, but had discarded her laptop the moment her phone vibrated. It was almost embarrassing, how much she had looked forward to a text message but eh, it wasn’t as if she had a hot and happening social life anyway. She was permitted.

_I’m not surprised._

_-A_

_Why ever not?_

_-M_

_I have seen a picture of her._

_-A_

Miranda didn’t reply within the minute, and Andy picked up her laptop again. She had barely finished typing a sentence when her phone rang.

“Hey,” she said, on the exhale.

 _“Do you mean to say that I remind you of a kitten_? _”_

Andy snorted. “I meant the contrary. But I suppose that’s true too.”

 _“You should get your head checked,_ ” Miranda huffed.

“But it’s practically a super fluffy feline version of you. It’s all white with blue eyes.” Andy lowered the lid of her laptop and reached over to place it on the floor.

 _“Really,”_ Miranda said, suspiciously.

“And it likes you. Why do you think she escapes into your room every night?”

“ _I am beginning to believe that I should get rid of her. Caroline thinks she’s being clever, hiding it in her bathroom. She forgets that cats can climb.”_

A mewl came across the line in protest and Andy wriggled down, curling up on her side to get into a more comfortable position.

“Don’t you worry, Miranda Junior. This one here’s all bark and no bite.”

_“Honestly, Andrea. You are as bad as the girls. And they call her Randy.”_

Andy bit down on her lip hard to keep from laughing. “Maybe it’s time to let the cat out of the bag,” Andy said, unable to resist.

“ _For heaven’s sake.”_

“Sorry, that was lame. But yeah, you secretly like her. If not, you wouldn’t return her to Caroline’s bathroom every morning.”

 _“We will see about that,”_ Miranda said, probably with the kitten in her lap. Absently, Andy wondered how it would feel like to be Randy right now – the feline wasn’t the only one who could do with a bit of warmth and cuddles. Damn, she hadn’t realised how sleepy she was until her head hit the pillow.

She yawned.

_“Oh, it is getting late. I didn’t think of the time.”_

“S’okay,” Andy said, hoping Miranda wouldn’t hang up. “S’not that late.”

_“It is. Go to bed.”_

“Hey, you know what?” she said, suddenly inspired and stubbornly wanting to prolong the conversation.

“ _Mm?”_

“Maybe we can meet up some time.” She really wanted to. It would make so much more sense. She saw Doug and Lily weekly. She could see Miranda too. “Right?” Andy prompted.

 _“I’d like that,”_ Miranda said. Her voice sounded softer. Or maybe Andy had imagined it. But Miranda had agreed to see her and it was all that counted.

“Good,” Andy said, and fell asleep.

The next morning, she woke up, checked her phone, and floated all the way to work.

_This Thursday, 6PM. Roy will pick you up from work._

_-M_

It was the best Monday she had had in ages. Her mood lasted until Miranda called again a day later, sounding edgy and irritated beyond measure on the phone.

“Hey,” Andy greeted, cradling her phone on her shoulder as she poured herself a glass of water.

_“Thursday cannot work.”_

“Oh,” Andy said, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.

_“Friday. Seven. Do not be late, Andrea.”_

“Oh, Friday. That should be okay. I’ll have to – hello? Miranda?”

A pang of annoyance shot through Andy. This was starting to get old. While she masochistically enjoyed Miranda’s legendary succinctness, she couldn’t say the same when it came to prematurely short phone calls and being taken for granted. She drained her glass before dialling Miranda’s number.

Miranda picked up on the first ring.

_“What?”_

Andy bit her lip to stop herself from snapping back. “I hadn’t finished talking and you uh, hung up on me.”

Miranda clicked her tongue. The sound came sharply over the line and Andy winced.  _“I am in the middle of a photo-shoot, in corn-chowder-state, which I have to personally oversee because I employ idiots. I had made myself clear, had I not?”_

“Yeah, but you can’t just tell me to do something, and not give me the chance to reply,” Andy said, covering her eyes with her hand. She should shut up right away.

 _“Really, Andrea,”_ Miranda sniffed. “ _You may have the time to waste, but I simply do not see the point in asking and allowing people to say no. It is far more efficient to make clear what is expected from the beginning.”_

“I know, but what if I  _can’t_ make it Friday night? I switched around my entire schedule this week for Thursday!” It was true. She had chosen her stories based on the deadlines available, just so she could keep Thursday evening open.

_“Did you have a deadline on Friday night?”_

“Well, Friday evening. But –”

 _“Then, I fail to understand the trouble, Andrea,”_ Miranda said, waspishly.

She should shut up.

But she couldn’t.

“It’s called respect, Miranda. If you want something, you ask.  _Nicely_. And I’m allowed to say no. That is how friendship works. Also, by  _not_ hanging up on the other person before a conversation is over,” Andy seethed, feeling the blood pounding in her temples from acute frustration. Do what was expected? She wasn’t on Miranda’s payroll for fuck’s sake. “Even if I let you boss me around, even if it always seems that I’m at your beck and call – which I am not, by the way – I don’t belong to you, Miranda.”

The line was deathly silent for such a long time that Andy fought the urge to check her phone to see if the call was still connected.

“Hello?”

When Miranda spoke, her voice was cold and flat.  _“Very well, Andrea. Since I seem to be lacking in this area of your expertise, please, feel free to acquire a more suitable candidate for your friendship.”_

“Jesus. That is  _not_ what I meant and you know it! Did you hear a word of what I said?” Andy wanted bash her forehead into the wall. Repeatedly. Because she had to be bat-shit crazy to think that she could take on the editor and get away unscathed.

 _“Every single one,”_  Miranda said, deceptively calm.  _“I am very well-aware that you do not belong to me, as you have so eloquently emphasised. I will not bother you again.”_

“Miranda –”

The line went dead.

Andy hit the dial button but her call went straight to voicemail.

“Goddamn fucking hell!”

Her empty glass shattered gratifyingly when it hit the wall.

On Wednesday night, Nate called at work, asking if Andy had a spare couch for the coming weekend. The original excitement she had harboured for their rekindled friendship had dampened (because that damn woman was practically the only person who could put a damper on cotton candy and kittens if anything) but Nate had an interview on Monday and she wanted so much for them to be on good terms that she had said yes.

It might be nice, having good company to go home to for once.

She regretted it the moment she hung up.

It took a great deal of cleaning on Thursday night for her apartment to be remotely acceptable for a guest. By then, the dark cloud over her head had turned into a permanent thunderstorm. In a shitty mood, Andy allowed herself to admit that it wasn’t the safest thing to leave broken glass lying around anywhere in her apartment (she couldn’t avoid her kitchen forever and wasn’t keen on explaining any potential injuries to her ex) and cleared up the mess.

“Bitch,” she muttered, as she swept up the tiny pieces of glass into a dustpan. She had cleared her schedule tonight,  _for_ Miranda. Not for cleaning up her rat-hole. She would have cleared it tomorrow,  _for_ Miranda too. But no, there was no middle-ground for Miranda. She was hot or cold, funny or cruel, tender or furious.

“Bitch!” she snapped, as she took out the trash and shoved it into the bin.

When she got back to her apartment, she slammed the door so hard, the walls rattled. “Goddamn, bitch!”

“Keep your fucking lesbian fights to yourself!” somebody yelled, banging against the wall for good measure.

“Oh, yeah?! Why don’t you fuck off?!” Andy yelled back, throwing her keys against the wall her neighbour had banged on. It dropped onto the floor with a jangle. It was silent after that.

Well, good riddance.

Something wet and warm slid down her cheeks, and she realised she was crying.

Nate arrived on Friday noon – he said he had taken the day off – and by the time Andy submitted her story to meet her 6PM deadline, her mood had improved significantly from her mini-breakdown last night. Miranda shouldn’t –  _didn’t_ – get to hold that sort of influence over Andy anymore and it was high time she pulled herself together. She wasn’t getting paid to meet impossible standards, or read crazy mood swings and it really, really shouldn’t bother her as much as it did.

And for God’s sake,  _friends?_

The editor couldn’t even keep husbands, Andy thought spitefully, then felt a little guilty.

She had been in over her head with that one.

“You’re gonna die from all that sodium,” Nate greeted her at the door.

“It’s been a long week,” Andy groused, pushing past him and dropping her bag onto the couch. She had started at an all-time high on Monday, only to crash spectacularly by Thursday. She couldn’t even meet her neighbours’ eyes now. “Don’t you dare touch my  _lo mien_.”

“Wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole,” Nate shrugged, and disappeared. He must have opened the oven to check on something, because Andy’s mouth watered and stomach growled at the scent which wafted out of the kitchen.

She padded into the kitchen, and stole a roasted potato wedge.

“Are you prepared for the interview?” she asked, eyeing the freshly baked chicken wings that had just left the oven.

“Yeah, I guess. I’ve already sorta done the interview over Skype.”

“Really? You didn’t tell me that.”

“I wanted to see the place first, before I made up my mind,” Nate said, pouring sauce over the chicken wings that Andy was trying really hard not to steal.

“Does that mean you’re moving back here?” Andy asked, casually pilfering a piece as he turned away to put the sauce bowl in the sink.

“If I like what they’re offering me, yeah, why not?”

“This is so good,” Andy said, sinking her teeth into the succulent flesh.

“If you don’t stop, you can’t blame me when Lily and Doug come to dinner and find none of it,” Nate said.

Andy smirked, polishing off the bone and tossing it into the bin. “I’m going to go shower and change.”

Fifteen minutes later, Nate rapped on her bedroom door. “They’re here.”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” Andy said, pulling her still-wet hair into a pony tail. She yanked open her door, only to see Nate still blocking the entrance.

“I apologise for intruding,” someone said, very, very softly.

And even then, Andy could recognise that voice anywhere.

Her mouth ran dry.

“Miranda?”

Two sets of blue eyes watched her as she stepped closer, one confused and another frustratingly inscrutable.

“I was only telling your friend here, that I did not mean to intrude,” Miranda said, casually, not a hair out of place.

“Nate,” Nate said, looking a bit peeved.

“Yes,” the editor said.

“You guys keep in touch?” Nate asked, confused.

Miranda narrowed her eyes at him but ignored the question.

“Miranda, is something wrong?” Like she hadn’t pulled a stunt so out of character that Andy had anything to worry about. Like walking up five flights of not-marble stairs in her ten-thousand dollar shoes,  _seeking Andy out_  and apologising for interrupting was something she did every other day. “Do you – I mean, would you like to come inside?”

The other woman held her gaze for a brief moment before shaking her head. “No. I should get going. Goodbye, Andrea,” Miranda said, and turned on her heel.

“Wait!” Andy said, panicking at the sight of the retreating woman. Was this karma for Paris? Shit. Miranda wasn’t doing this to her again, coming and leaving as she pleased, not caring about what that meant to Andy.

“Andy?” Nate asked, reminding her of his presence. Goddammit.

“Um.” She couldn’t see the other woman anymore, but could hear the clicks of her heels echoing down the stairs. No, Miranda didn’t get to walk away again. She didn’t get to ignore Andy, hang up on her whenever she wanted, and fucking walk away whenever she felt like it. And  _goodbye?!_ Miranda never said goodbye. She hung up. Or said, “That’s all.” What the hell did goodbye even mean?

“Andy? I don’t get this.”

Andy almost laughed. She didn’t get it either.

“I need to – uh – just gimme a sec,” she said, slipping into a pair of old flip-flops. “I’ll be right back!”

“What’s going on?” Nate asked, just as she brushed past him and raced down the stairs.

Apparently, creaky wooden stairs and four-inch heels couldn’t stop Miranda from walking at her usual stride which was practically a really fashionable powerwalk, and Andy was out of breath by the time she caught up with the woman before she could reach the town-car.

“Miranda!”

The editor halted a few feet from the waiting car. Roy had probably been given instructions to just wait inside the car or else he would have already been at attention with the door open.

“Why did you come here?” Andy asked.

Miranda looked down and adjusted the cuff of her silk blouse.

“I was under the impression that you were fine for Friday night.”

As if that explained anything. And Friday night at Andy’s apartment was most definitely  _not_ the original plan. At least Andy didn’t think it was.

She shook her head. “I thought it wasn’t happening. I mean, you practically told me to get a new friend.”

“Which you have,” Miranda said, quietly.

“No! No, Nate’s  _not_ my new friend. I mean, he’s an old friend yes, but he’s only here because he’s got an interview on Monday and needs a place to bunk. Our other friends have roommates.” Andy bit her lip.

“Old friend,” Miranda repeated.

“Yeah, well. He’s my ex. But now, just an old friend,” Andy pleaded and then frowned at how pitiful she sounded. It didn’t make  _any_ sense whatsoever, that she needed to explain herself. “Wait – why does this matter anyway?”

“It doesn’t,” Miranda murmured, glancing away.

Andy frowned.

“Well. Have a good weekend, Andrea,” she continued, and turned to go.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Andy reached out without hesitation and broke every single rule ever about touching the woman in question.

Miranda turned around, eyes darting between Andy’s flushed face and the hand on her arm. She looked dazed, as if she couldn’t believe someone had actually touched her. And then those blue eyes reached Andy’s lips and her heart about stopped.

Fuck.

“Um,” Andy mumbled, pulling back as if burned.

Miranda blinked, and then visibly swallowed.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I’m sorry,” Andy said.

“Don’t be,” Miranda whispered, sadly. She took a step back. “As I have said before, I will not bother you again. Goodbye.”

“I’m sorry,” Andy repeated, because no other words would come to her.

Ten minutes later, when Doug and Lily turned up, Andy was still standing by the sidewalk, staring down an empty road.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the third and last part! A huge thanks to the lovely support from all of you. I'm very happy people are deriving enjoyment from my small contributions to such a great pairing. :)
> 
> No beta; please excuse the mistakes. Otherwise, please enjoy!

It had taken twenty-one unanswered calls that evening – she had lost count of the number of text messages – for Andy to finally admit defeat and that Miranda would likely never ever speak to her again.

Dinner had been shot straight to hell, with Andy fidgeting so much that Doug and Lily had excused themselves after one painful hour. Even Nate had looked like he was nursing a stomach ache the entire evening. He hadn’t attempted to speak to her which was a blessing, because Andy hadn’t been entirely sure what she could have said. “Sorry, I was supposed to see my ex-boss, and sort-of friend tonight, but we had an argument about her disregard for pleasantries and now she thinks I’ve replaced her,” sounded too complicated to her own ears, what more Nate’s.

And she hadn’t even bothered to help with the dishes, barricading herself in the bedroom to abuse the redial function on her phone.

Sad, sad Andy.

She fell asleep clutching her phone to her chest, and woke up to crusted tears at 2AM in the morning.

She shouldn’t have worn those pair of fucking boots, Andy thought. Maybe Miranda wouldn’t have bothered contacting Andy then, and they could have avoided this whole weird mess. She could have easily ignored that text message, could have easily prevented Miranda from subsequently re-entering her life but she hadn’t.

Though, she couldn’t be sure if Miranda had ever left to begin with.

Almost compulsively, she checked her phone again, only to see her own text messages staggered up on the screen.  _I’m sorry. Please pick up. Please call me back if you’re busy. I’m sorry._

Sad, sad Andy.

This was definitely karma for what she had done in Paris. It had to be. She had ignored Miranda’s calls and then tossed her phone, along with her job, into the nearest fountain then. It hadn’t been her finest moment and she hadn’t dared face Miranda again after that, leaving behind a pathetic handwritten resignation letter on hotel stationary as her farewell note. She had known that it would come back to bite her in the ass sooner or later. When there had been no professional rebuke on Miranda’s part, Andy had waited around holding her breath for two weeks for the axe to fall. It hadn’t. Instead, she had been let off unscathed and given a recommendation, albeit in true Miranda-fashion.

But maybe, this was the damn axe she thought she’d escaped then.

Maybe Miranda was punishing her for Paris  _now_ , in some sick joke that counted on making Andy care and then crushing her heart under her stiletto heel. Perfect execution.

Jesus Christ, she really cared.

She cared if Miranda was having a bad day, cared enough to make fun of herself just to make Miranda smile. No doubt, she couldn’t tell for sure if her efforts paid off since she never saw the woman in person when they spoke, but she always imagined Miranda quirking her lips in amusement.

She cared if Miranda was lonely, and she suspected the woman often was whenever Caroline and Cassidy were with their father. She cared enough to pay extra attention on those weekends, keeping conversation alive just so Miranda knew that she had Andy to talk to if she wanted company.

She even cared about the damn kitten, because she knew Miranda secretly cared about it too.

And Miranda had to care in return, even if the other woman was the least demonstrative person Andy had ever known in her life. “Don’t die on the way home,” meant “Be safe,” and “You are too young for dementia” meant “Please don’t forget to eat lunch again.” Okay, so maybe  _please_ was pushing it a little, but Andy felt that the right intentions were there.

It would have been easier, if it  _had_ been a meticulously planned revenge, because that meant Andy could go back to when it didn’t matter if Miranda hated her or not.

But now.

Her heart squeezed.

The sadness in Miranda’s eyes had been real, a sadness Andy had only seen once in her life and wished she didn’t ever have to again. It sucked even worse that she’d been the one to put it there this time around. That she  _could_ do such a thing, though, had to mean something. Otherwise, she would have only been worthy of a dismissal via an indifferent sniff.

So she told herself, Miranda  _had_  to care too.

Or else, turning up on her doorstep before dawn on a Saturday morning would be a terrible, terrible idea.

The windows were dark, but after standing beside a potted plant for five whole minutes, Andy braced herself and dialled Miranda’s number anyway. The call was rejected after two rings, which meant Miranda was either still awake or had been woken up by Andy’s call. She tried not to feel guilty about the second possibility. She was here on a peace mission. Regardless of why, the rejection of her call also meant that she would likely see the text Andy was about to send.

_Please don’t freak out. I’m outside._

_-A_

She cringed at how stalker-ish she sounded, and remembered how she had protested her innocence that day in the town-car. But it shouldn’t matter, because Miranda was upset and Andy really needed to fix it. With superhuman strength, she fought the instinct to flee when she saw a light flicker on in a window upstairs. No doubt, Miranda’s bedroom. Several moments later, Andy heard soft footsteps coming down the stairs and her legs tried in vain to run.

Whatever greeting she might have had planned died on her lips as soon as the door opened.

Miranda looked absolutely livid.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” she hissed.

Andy gulped, reassuring herself with her “Miranda cares” mantra, the same one which had been running through her head from the moment she pulled up her jeans until she stepped out of the cab. Okay, so maybe she it would have been wise to say yes when the cabbie had asked if she’d wanted him to wait.

“I wanted to see you,” she said, biting her lip.  _Miranda cares._

“Don’t be stupid, Andrea,” Miranda said, looking ready to slam the door in Andy’s face at any given moment. “Go home.”

“Please,” Andy said. “You wouldn’t take my calls.”  _Miranda cares._

“And what purpose would that have served? I said – ”

“I know. You said goodbye. You  _never_ say goodbye,” Andy said, desperately. “I wish you had said ‘That’s all.’ Or something mean. Not goodbye.”

Miranda pursed her lips. “Is that so?”

Andy laughed hollowly, and felt her throat close up with fresh tears. “Yeah. But you said goodbye, like you meant it. Like I would never hear from you again. And then, you didn’t pick up my calls or answer any of my texts. I don’t understand why!”

“Lower your voice,” Miranda said impatiently, glancing past Andy’s shoulder onto the street. “Do you intend to wake the entire neighbourhood?”

“No, I wasn’t – ”

“Oh, for the love of – get in here!” Miranda snapped, yanking Andy by the elbow into the house.

She stumbled over a rug in the dimness of the foyer. “I – ”

“Are you insane?” Miranda whispered harshly, the moment she turned on Andy. “What possessed you to show up here at three in the damn morning?”

“I don’t know,” she said, honestly. “I wanted to – I needed to see you.”

“Are you – intoxicated?” Miranda asked, suddenly.

Andy frowned. “No, of course not!”

“Would you please keep your voice down?” Miranda shot a worried glance up the stairs. “The girls are asleep.”

Andy immediately felt guilty. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Stop apologising,” Miranda said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I told you that you didn’t have anything to apologise for. You shouldn’t have come here.”

“But you’re upset,” Andy said, watching proud shoulders tense up at her words. “You are. I wish you weren’t. I didn’t replace you. I don’t care about Nate.”  _I care about you._

Miranda looked down. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does, doesn’t it? I upset you.”

If it didn’t matter, she would have picked up Andy’s damn calls. If it didn’t matter, she wouldn’t have turned up at Andy’s door last night. All of a sudden, the distance between them was unbearable and she was beginning to realise that Andy Sachs  _did_ matter to Miranda Priestly. She mattered a whole damn lot and she had always wanted to.

“Andrea.”

“I don’t want you to leave me alone,” Andy insisted, taking a few steps forward.

Miranda watched her warily with every step. “You should leave now.”

“No, I don’t think I should.”

“Andrea.”

It was the first time Andy had heard something akin to pleading in the other woman’s voice.

“I don’t want you to tell me goodbye.”

“Don’t you?” Miranda said, distractedly running her thumb across the sash of her bathrobe.

When she got close enough, Andy reached out and gently curled her fingers around the moving wrist. Miranda stilled, and it seemed she stopped breathing as well but she didn’t move from Andy’s touch, so there was some confidence to be taken from that. The moonlight from the window illuminated the older woman’s pale skin, making her glow ethereally. It was just like the editor to subconsciously pick a spot for the moon to light her up perfectly, even at 3AM in the morning.

“No, I don’t. I was really looking forward to seeing you,” Andy said, softly. The other woman stared back, her gaze lacking its usual steadiness. “It sucked that we fought but what you said wasn’t true, you know? You’re not lacking. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way. I don’t want to look for anybody else. Nobody else can compare.”

“Oh,” Miranda said, and her pulse fluttered under Andy’s fingers.

Taking the cue, Andy tentatively stroked her thumb gently across the warm, soft skin and Miranda trembled. Oh, God. Her stomach quivered with the knowledge that she could affect Miranda in such a way.

Feeling bold from the certainty that the editor wouldn’t throw her out now, Andy said: “And I think, maybe I lied to you.”

“About?”

“I guess I do belong to you.”

“Oh,” Miranda repeated, seemingly unable to drag her eyes away from Andy’s face.

“I just couldn’t see it, then. But now, I think I’ve never stopped belonging to you.”

Miranda broke their gaze, dipping her head slightly. “Haven’t you?” she whispered.

Andy took another step closer and Miranda gasped.

The soft sound only served to strengthen the courage growing in Andy’s chest. She was close enough to feel the heat of Miranda’s breath on her face and the skin under Andy’s fingers pulsed wildly, matching her own hammering heart. A week ago, touching Miranda would have been an impossibility. A week ago, she hadn’t known that touching Miranda Priestly was something she had  _wanted_ to do.

“No,” Andy said, marvelling at the goosebumps trailing along in the wake of her fingers. “I don’t think I’m better off not where I belong, though.”

Miranda glanced up, eyes glimmering brightly even in the darkness of the room. Then, silently, she leaned forward, a temple brushing slightly against Andy’s cheek. Her heart lurched, beating wildly in her chest at the contact.

“Come back,” Miranda whispered.

Holy crap.

Whatever nervousness, or uncertainty Andy had suffered from earlier evaporated immediately.

“I’m here,” she said, bravely. “I’m yours.”

“Good,” Miranda said, and surged forward.

Soft, Andy mindlessly thought, as Miranda’s tongue slid across her lower lip, seeking entrance. Wet. And hot. But really, really soft. She parted her lips, and Miranda exhaled, sending Andy into a heady cloud of desire and need. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she tried to remember that she wasn’t supposed to be making any noise when she heard the distant sound of something clattering onto the hardwood floor. But thinking was especially difficult when her hands were burning to feel the soft curves of the woman in her arms – and oh fuck, Miranda’s scent had to be the most intoxicating thing in the world, sending a throb right between Andy’s legs.

“Andrea,” Miranda said, stunned.

“You’re so beautiful,” Andy whispered, and kissed Miranda’s swollen lips again before she could change her mind. They stumbled backwards, until Andy was effectively pressing the smaller woman against the front door.

Spurred on by the need to touch more skin, Andy slipped her hand beneath Miranda’s bathrobe, pushing one side down her shoulders to expose more creamy perfection. She hooked her thumb under the thin strap of what should be a nightgown and pulled it down as well. Miranda arched her neck, and Andy took her cue to kiss the pale skin there, allowing her tongue to slip out for a taste.

Miranda moaned, and then shuddered as Andy flicked her tongue over warm flesh.

“No,” she gasped, pressing weakly against Andy’s shoulders.

“No?” Andy repeated, and continued to kiss every inch of skin she could access.

“Not here,” Miranda said, with no small degree of reluctance.

Andy paused, pulling back slightly.

“Come upstairs?” Miranda asked, and blushed when she realised what an invitation like that meant.

Andy grinned and took Miranda’s hand in hers, chest warm with the affection growing within.

It had taken a lot of effort to hold back from tackling Miranda along the way, but Andy managed to behave until the editor opened the door to her bedroom. The moment the door was safely shut and locked, Andy wasted no time in continuing her very pressing task of removing Miranda’s robe. Pulling on the sash, the robe slipped open, revealing a silky negligée that made Andy’s blood rush to her face with dizzying speed.

“I didn’t think anyone actually slept in these things,” she said, in awe at the sight greeting her.

“They are quite comfortable,” Miranda explained, and let her eyes slip shut when Andy’s mouth found hers again.

They fumbled across the room, discarding Andy’s shirt and jeans on the way, before making it to the impossibly large bed.

“You’re amazing,” Andy said, unable to resist from reaching out to brush her hands against silk encased breasts.

Miranda’s breath hitched when Andy’s thumb brushed across a stiffening peak. Oh, God. Andy was probably going to die of self-combustion before the night was over. She could feel the wetness pooling between her legs and ached for relief but Miranda was proving to be a more interesting distraction for now.

“I can’t believe how beautiful you are,” Andy said, pushing herself up on her knees and pressing her lips against Miranda’s. They parted easily for her, and her tongue pushed inwards into the heat. Miranda leaned backwards as Andy pressed forward, negligée riding up. Andy’s eyes darkened at the bare thighs and glimpse of silk between them.

“May I?” She allowed her hand to hover above a smooth thigh.

Wordlessly, Miranda nodded and shivered when Andy’s hand slid upwards, dangerously close to the apex of her thighs. She caressed the edge of expensive silk panties and then moved closer to lightly tease the heat at the centre, watching Miranda’s breath become shallower with every stroke of her fingers. She increased the pressure, surprised at the dampness which seeped through the silky material.

“Please,” Miranda whispered thickly.

Andy almost froze in shock at hearing the plea. She had never heard Miranda say please before, not without sarcasm and most definitely  _not_ in the way the word was meant to be used. Yup, death by self-combustion was definitely a possible thing, judging by the heat her body was emitting. But she was going to die happy and  _that_ wasn’t something everyone could attest to.

Pushing the silk aside, she slid her a finger through folds of heated flesh and circled the bundle of sensitive nerves. Miranda’s hips lifted off the bed at the touch, back arching exquisitely.

“Jesus. You’re so wet,” Andy said, in wonder, pushing a finger inside with ease. She leaned forward, to capture Miranda’s lips, drawing out and pushing inside again with two fingers.

Miranda whimpered, spreading her thighs further to allow Andy better access.

Alternating between stroking the swollen nub and pushing two fingers inside, Andy took advantage of Miranda’s posture and licked a nipple through the negligée, before pushing it down roughly to expose a small but flawless breast.

“O-oh,” Miranda sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut when Andy let her tongue trail along the underside of her breast, before taking the nipple between her lips.

She straddled Miranda’s thigh, pushing down slightly to take the edge of the ache in her groin. Curling her fingers experimentally, Andy watched as the other woman grabbed fistful of sheets in both hands, biting her lip to swallow a moan. She had never seen anyone sexier – though she knew instinctively that Miranda would probably sniff at such a plebeian word – in her entire life. So responsive, although Andy had never been with another woman in her life.

“Feels good?” she asked, repeating the motion and pulling out slightly, drawing out more of Miranda’s arousal in the process. “Do you like this?”

“Yes, yes, p-please, please,” Miranda said, apparently having lost her articulation the moment Andy had pinned her against the front door.

“Okay,” Andy said, sinking her teeth into unmarred white flesh. She curled her fingers again, rubbing against the soft spot which seemed to drive the other woman crazy and pressing her thumb against Miranda’s hardened clit.

Miranda reached out blindly and in a swift motion, she had unhooked Andy’s bra, dropping it off the side of the bed.

“Perfect,” she gasped, cupping a full breast in her warm palm.

Andy groaned at the way Miranda was rolling her nipple between her thumb and forefinger, and curled her fingers harder in response. There was no way she could last like this, hips moving on their own accord, grinding down against Miranda’s bare skin.

Props to the manufacturers of cheap, durable, and unfashionable cotton underwear because she was shamelessly soaking them and too far gone to bother with removing them. She felt the tell-tale signs of impending release, the way her stomach coiled up in tension as she selfishly sought out the delicious pressure of a firm thigh. She wanted to last, but it felt too good to stop and the sighs and whimpers Miranda was making propelled her further.

Hoping to delay her orgasm, Andy leaned forward and channelled her attentions onto the writhing woman beneath her – hot, soft, soaking wet – if she felt this good just around Andy’s fingers… a surge of jealousy rose without warning at the thought of anyone else having had Miranda this way. Suddenly, she hated every single man Miranda had been with, even if they had unwittingly served as amusement for Andy later on. Fucking “fallen heroes”. Miranda wasn’t theirs to touch, theirs to taste, theirs to –

“Andrea!”

Andy blinked into the present, terrified that she had hurt Miranda in anyway. Oh God, her forearm burned with exertion – just how hard she had been –

“Oh! Don’t – I can’t – please, please,” Miranda cried. Andy couldn’t really tell if they were meant to protest, or to encourage, but the way the woman was arching off the bed each time Andy moved her wrist, was all the encouragement she needed.

Porcelain skin flushed, eyes glazed over and thighs spread bare for Andy’s taking, Miranda was …  _really fucking hot_.

Unable to ignore her own arousal, Andy’s hips undulated with each motion of her arm.

“I can’t – oh, oh,” Miranda sobbed, and buried her face in Andy’s neck, thighs trembling.

Guessing that the other woman was teetering on the edge, Andy pushed deep inside and curled her fingers upwards, pressing hard on Miranda’s clit simultaneously.

“Come on, baby,” Andy said, grinding down at the same time. “Come for me.”

“Andrea!” Miranda cried, and did exactly what she was told. Vaguely, Andy felt something warm splash against her thigh but the sight of Miranda coming apart, toes curled and clenching like a vice around her fingers, sent her straight over the edge with a whine, shaking in pleasure until her arm refused to support her anymore.

“Fuck,” Andy said, collapsing against the other woman gracelessly.

“Yes,” Miranda said, dragging a hand up Andy’s spine to rest on the nape of her neck.

“I can’t believe I just fucked Miranda Priestly,” Andy babbled, happily, into Miranda’s chest.

“Indeed,” the woman in question breathed, tracing an invisible pattern on Andy’s skin.

Feeling the aftershocks of Miranda’s orgasm subsiding, Andy carefully extracted her glistening fingers, coated with the proof that yes, she had just thoroughly fucked Miranda Priestly. She’d come in her panties, just by being  _that_ turned on by what she was doing to said woman. Holy shit.

A few quiet moments later, she shifted to get more comfortable, and felt slippery wetness sliding in between her thighs. Andy flopped over, pulling up her legs so she had a better view.

Miranda turned on her side, shuffling closer to seek out the heat of Andy’s body.

“I can’t believe you did that.”

Miranda cracked an eye open. “Mm?”

“That,” Andy said, running a finger through the mess Miranda had made on her thigh. The sheets under them felt a bit damp too, and Andy was pretty sure it didn’t all come from sweat.

Miranda scooted backwards immediately, pulling the straps of her negligée back over her shoulders.

“That was ah – an, accident,” she said, blushing.

Was she really getting shy on Andy? Now? New York’s reigning Ice Queen?

Her brain exploded.

No wonder Miranda favoured pale make-up all the damn time. She was a hundred times less intimidating when there was colour in her cheeks and Andy was beginning to understand how easy it truly was to make her blush. Could there be anything more unexpected, more  _adorable_ than that? Andy grinned, but Miranda was too busy avoiding eye contact to see that.

“Sometimes, it happens when – well, I can’t stop it. I apologise, Andrea. I didn’t realise – ”

“What? Oh my God, no!” Andy said immediately, when she realised that Miranda was genuinely mortified. She pushed herself up on an elbow, reaching out to grab the other woman’s hand before she could inch any further away.

“But –”

“No, I wasn’t – it wasn’t anything bad. At all. Please don’t be sorry for it, Miranda,” Andy said, running her thumb across the hand she held. She breathed a sigh of relief when Miranda relaxed. Refusing to let anything turn awkward, Andy shifted closer, and sneaked an arm around the other woman’s waist. “Actually, I thought it was really hot.”

“Ah,” Miranda said, visibly relieved, letting Andy press up against her.

Thank God.

Because Andy wasn’t sure what she would have done if Miranda had suddenly decided that everything had been a mistake and who knows what else.

“I want to spend the rest of my life making you feel that good.”

“The rest of your life?” Miranda said, light-heartedly, though Andy could feel her holding her breath.

“Mhmm. I belong to you, remember?”

“Yes,” Miranda breathed and closed her eyes.

Craving the stillness of a dark room, Andy reached over the bedside table to flip the light switch off and finally allowed herself to let out a shuddering breath. Up until less than an hour ago, she hadn’t even known what she’d wanted. And now that she had Miranda here with her, like this, Andy was quite sure that she wanted to keep it.

“And you belong to me,” she said, pressing a kiss onto mussed white hair.

“I like that song,” Miranda murmured.

“I thought you were asleep,” Andy said softly, pulling the sheets up to cover them both.

“Mm.”

In a fit of giddiness, Andy closed her eyes and began to hum the tune of a song she guessed Miranda liked. “See the pyramids along the Nile,” Andy whispered, pulling up bits and pieces from what she remembered. “This one?”

Miranda shifted, relaxing into Andy’s embrace. “Mm.”

“I’ll remember it,” Andy promised, and continued to hum softly from where she left of.

She fell asleep before she got to the bridge.

It was near four in the morning, when Andy woke, pulled from sleep by something cold and ticklish at her feet. Not wanting to wake Miranda up, she carefully removed her arm, before sitting up and peering towards the edge of the bed. The idea of roaches in Miranda’s pristine townhouse might be too far-fetched to be considered, but Andy hated those bastards with a vengeance and just the thought of their disgusting alien bodies made her skin crawl with irrational fear.

When the sheets moved, and two glowing orbs stared back at her, Andy told herself to calm the hell down.

“Hey girl,” she whispered, offering up a palm in a gesture of peace.

The white fur-ball padded across the sheets, camouflaged so well that it was almost invisible in the dark.

“I guess I took your spot, huh?”

The kitten sniffed at Andy’s hand curiously.

“Sorry about that. I had something really important to do here tonight.”

Losing interest, the kitten stepped across Andy’s legs and put two tiny paws against Miranda’s back, mewling.

“Shh, or you’ll wake her up,” Andy reprimanded, scooping the feline up easily in one palm.

It mewled again, in protest.

“Stubborn, huh? Just like her, aren’t you?” Andy lifted the kitten up to get a better look at the face she had only seen through a picture Miranda had sent over. Blue eyes glared at her in clear disapproval.

“Christ. You’re like her spirit animal.”

“She is no such thing,” Miranda’s voice interrupted, making Andy jump.

The kitten made its escape, trotting over to the other side and curling up at the foot of the bed, near the other woman’s feet.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Andy said, apologetic. “I think Randy’s upset I took her spot.”

“You probably kicked her in your sleep,” Miranda muttered, without opening her eyes. “Come back to bed.”

Heart full and happy, Andy complied, snuggling back under the covers and wrapping an arm around the warm body beside her. “I have to go to work today, though. I need to be up in an hour,” she said, reluctantly.

“On a Sunday, Andrea?”

“Well, the news stops for no one,” Andy said, repeating what Miranda had said to her weeks and weeks ago. She was sorely tempted to take the day off or even call in sick, but she wasn’t sure what Miranda’s plans were for the day, not to mention that her daughters were only sleeping a few fancy bedrooms away.

“Unfortunately,” Miranda sighed.

The next time Andy woke, her phone was vibrating insistently in the pocket of her discarded jeans, the alarm tone muted by the fabric. Slightly panicking that she would wake Miranda up, yet again, she scrambled off the bed, and fought with the stiff fabric until she found her phone and punched the volume button repeatedly.

Hasting a quick glance at the bed where the older woman and her feline counterpart still slumbered, Andy stumbled to the bathroom to freshen up before putting on her clothes. She brushed out her hair with her fingers and pulled it into a ponytail, rounding over to Miranda’s side of the bed and knelt down onto the lush carpet.

“I have to go to work for a while,” she whispered, brushing a silver lock from Miranda’s brow and kissing a smooth forehead. “But I’ll be right back where I belong. Promise.”

Something nudged at her knee, and she picked up the offender without looking, scratching absently behind its ears as she stood up.

Randy mewled, and Andy put her on the empty side she had vacated.

“All yours now. Be good and take care of her for me.”

As quietly as possible, she made her way downstairs, and let herself out. She hummed all the way home, and then all the way to work. Even Nate’s (expected) cold-shoulder when she got to her apartment couldn’t bring her down. It really felt like nothing could, not when she had Miranda Priestly on her side.

The moment she got to her desk, Flynn took one look at her and grinned. “Your special friend treating you good?”

Andy couldn’t keep the smirk off her face. “Actually, yes.”

He had no idea just how good.

At noon, Miranda texted, and Andy almost did a little jig when she saw her name on the screen.

_What do you think of Egypt?_

_-M_

Since it was her lunch hour, and since Andy was going to take some initiative in being the first one to call, she dialled Miranda’s number, and waited. As anticipated, it only rang once.

“ _I have the most interesting idea for a shoot along the Nile,_ ” Miranda said, by way of greeting.

“Yeah?” Andy chuckled, and leaned back in her chair.

Some things, it seemed, would really never change and she found that she was all right with that.

Because the things which mattered most, like the nearly undetectable fondness in Miranda’s voice and the fact that she was talking about a place Andy had been humming about the night before, told Andy that she was right where she belonged.

 

_fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced in this chapter is [You Belong to Me](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/You_Belong_to_Me_\(1952_song\)).  
> If anyone is interested, my personal favourite version of the song can be heard [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=murYvyEzpUM).
> 
> Sequel to the piece above: [Second-Hand Illusions](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4324812/chapters/9806343)


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